Let's Begin Again (Again)
by SCBM
Summary: On his journey towards the alluring and preserved city of New Vegas, Ryder begins a relationship with a Deathclaw, faces the worst horrors of the wastes, and embroils himself in the gang war of New Reno, all the while being hunted down by the pre-war military called the Enclave. How much will he sacrifice in order to reach the city of lights?
1. Chapter 1

_**Let's Begin Again: Revived**_

**Chapter 1**

**Leaving Oregon**

**1**

The skewered gecko spun steadily over the small campfire, not enough meat to feed him for the day, and certainly not enough to get him to where he was going, but the more he travelled south the more scarce food became round here.

His survival skills had been drilled into his head at a very young age - being part of a family of caravaners does that to you. He poked the fire idly with a stick, watching and waiting for the smell of burning. He liked his meat well done. A thought came to him wondering if this journey was going to be worth it. He'd heard from the last town the exact same rumour he had heard in every settlement he'd come across. There was a city, filled with lights and money, women and drink. Like something out of one of those old fairy tales.

They called it _New Vegas._

How long had it been out there, he wondered. People said it was filled with buildings that reached up to the clouds, some of them shaped like giant roulette spinners. Must have taken years to build that kind of thing, not to mention the constant stream of raiders that lived all over the wasteland. There had to be heavy protection there, and that was just one of the reasons he'd decided long ago that this was the place he could not only survive in, but _live _in.

He checked his pack for the third time today, the abundance of caps jangling around his pockets was obvious. His last great haul was a week back, in a little store called the _Dancing Deathclaw._ Ironic, really, what he had sold to get a couple thousand caps for the journey to Vegas, and to spend _in _Vegas.

Ironic because, he initially thought he would travel alone to Nevada, but had made a friend that some… or _most_… would call a monster.

Something scraped against the rocks above him and he looked up. On the top of the outcropping he'd made camp next to stood a creature that was no higher than his hips. Two large, taloned feet scaled the rock swiftly down to his campfire, using its large, hand-sized nails to grip expertly onto unseen crevices in the rock face. When it came a few feet lower it jumped, landing with a thump that could've crushed any lesser beings knees.

It looked up at him with orange, curious eyes. In its draconic chops it held a gecko, a little bigger than the one on the spit. He'd seen teeth like that rip through steel, yet the lizard looked mostly intact. The deathclaw juvenile dropped the gecko next to his boot with a grin, which was wired, because he'd never seen a deathclaw try and smile before.

"Hey buddy," he said, giving the creature a scratch near the base of one of its two bull-horns on its forehead. He'd done this action so much lately that it just came naturally to him. Plus the deathclaw liked it, as was confirmed with the low thrumming he could hear from its throat. Having this thing as a 'pet' was strange and dangerous, but it had imprinted on him in some way, and he appreciated the company. Also it brought him food, which was hard enough to come by.

He grabbed a pair of tongs sitting on the stones surrounding the fire, and pulled off a chunk of gecko and tossed it to his little friend. It caught the meat mid-air, chomped it down with obvious hunger. He pulled off another piece for himself. Crispy gecko tasted as good as it sounds. As he ate his dinner, he thought of how he had come to meet his new companion.

The _Dancing Deathclaw _trader was paying a hefty sum for the extermination of a pack of deathclaws that had recently moved into the nearby mineshaft. The town of Plush wasn't very populated, and they relied on the mine's resources to get by out here away from any of the bigger settlements. He took up the offer, gathering as much info as he could before heading off. It hadn't been the first time he was on the hunt, but last time he had a team of people watching his back, and they were trying to kill a queen cazador, which was arguably much more dangerous if you've ever seen one up close.

The entrance to the mine was small, teetering on the edge of collapsing, supported only by a few rotting planks of wood and steel. He thumbed off the safety on his rifle and moved inside in a hurry, wanting to get the horrible occupants inside off guard.

He crossed uneven and mined-out terrain, keeping his steps light to avoid making noise on the gravel and rock. One long strip of blackness stretched out before him, no wider than three people. The smell hit him like a wall – blood, rotting flesh, and most dominantly, shit.

His helmet's torch illuminated the darkness ahead, and about half a minute inside, he came across something lying on the ground. He knelt down, keeping his rifle trained on the darkness ahead, and turned the corpse onto its back.

Judging by the clothes he could tell this was no raider, but a fellow adventurer perhaps. Maybe was even on the same job as he was at this very moment, only to meet his end just in sight of the exit. He searched the dead man's pockets, but didn't turn up anything worth noting.

A blanket of dust kicked up just ahead of him, and he aimed his rifle forwards as he stood up and walked past the corpse. The scars on his chest and neck didn't tell him much other than confirming what he already knew was in these caves.

Pressing on, he came upon a large central room, with other paths leading off to deeper parts of the mine. An abundance of picks and shovels and other old equipment lay strewn all over the ground, some of them half buried like they'd just recently been used. Two rickety wooden paths lead up to a second level, where minerals were scattered across the walls, but he didn't need to go up there.

Near the centre of the room, the ground suddenly dipped out of view like a large crater. He approached it quickly, taking note and passing a pair of thick, but rotting, support pillars. Then he stopped, at the lip of the divot, and looked unto a scene not many in the wastes would dare dream of seeing.

The alpha deathclaw and its mate, sitting down there at the base of the hole, resting on a large cluster of eggs. Had either one been awake, he'd surely have been ripped apart by now. He took a moment to examine the both of them. The male was unnaturally brutish, with a dark, armoured body, and huge arms that could rip sentry bots apart. The female was just as big, with creamy blue skin and horns that curled back alongside its forehead. He'd heard and read about pre-war stories of things called 'demons', and was chilled at how similar they looked alike.

Not giving them a chance to wake, he raised the rifle, lined up his sights, and fired. The cave flashed white, a single cartridge fell from the barrel to the floor, and the female died without even waking up.

The male did, however, and he dashed up the hole and swiped in a great arc to try and rip him apart. It was a narrow miss, however, and the survivalist jumped backwards from the divot and behind a pillar.

The deathclaws huge hands gripped the lip of the divot and hoisted its huge body up and prepared to charge. In the interest of saving ammo and before the alpha could get any closer, he gripped his rifle by the barrel with both hands, and swung as hard as he could into the pillar he stood behind.

Instantly the roof came crumbling down upon the both of them, but the deathclaw was caught off guard and suffered the worst of it. Two huge boulders of rock smashed down onto its legs, crushing them. The alpha was easy pickings.

_So much for saving bullets,_ he thought, then the cave flashed white again, but this bullet didn't quite kill the alpha. It lay there, moving its arms sluggishly, a bullet to the head only stunning it. He had to fire once more to get it to go still, and for the lights in its burning eyes to go out.

After he got his breathing back to normal, he took several trips to get all the eggs in the mine back to the trader to sell. By the time he had brought them all back he'd basically wiped the trader out to the point he was giving away NCR dollars, which were not as good a value as caps, but money is money, as he always said.

"Whatcha gonna do with all that, brother?" the trader asked, handing over his last hundred dollar note. The survivalist grinned at him.

"Heard New Reno's got some fine casino's," he replied. The trader's eyes widened.

"Seriously? My brother Alfred works at the New Reno Arms store! If you're going all the way out there could you say hi to him for me? He hasn't been replying to my letters at all lately, I hope he's alright."

"Sure thing."

"Thanks brother, and watch out for those Bishops! Nasty bunch of assholes would screw you over just 'cause they felt like it!"

He thanked the trader for his business, then left town soon after. Not a few hours later did he come across his new friend. He had been prying open a locked car trunk with an old pry bar that had been his father's last gift to him years ago, and it had served him very well these past couple years. Just as he'd overpowered the car lock and began rummaging through some old suitcases within, did he hear scuffling on the concrete behind him. In one swift movement he was crouched, rifle aiming at the source of the sound, which was coming from behind an old burnt out sedan a few feet behind him.

"Who's there?"

Silence for a moment, then a tiny face peered out from behind the rear of the car. The sun was setting behind him, so he couldn't make out the features apart from that the person was very small. His rifle lowered slightly.

"Come out."

He first noticed the taloned feet, clicking on the ground every step. After the moment he realised it was in fact a deathclaw he was stunned, unable to really react at all. Should he shoot it? Ignore it? It didn't seem to be aggressive, which was a first for the species as a whole.

He considered shooting the thing to get this over with, as he'd had enough contact with these things for one lifetime. Its parents might come looking for it, unless of course, it had come from the very same mines he'd just cleaned out. But that couldn't be right, because he had searched the place over just in case and had completely and utterly wiped everything out.

Whatever the case, here it was, now all he had to do was finish the job, and move on. Yet he couldn't squeeze the trigger, because the deathclaw had, of all things, a toy car in its hands. And while his brain struggled to make a choice to kill it or not, it was rolling the toy around like a child, and he found this so bizarre, that he couldn't bring himself to do it, and lowered the gun to his side.

"Wouldn't even call myself charitable," he mumbled, watching the deathclaw play, almost oblivious to his presence anymore. Funny, how much that it looked like _her_, little Joan playing with her toys back in Seattle. It hurt to think about it, and maybe that was why he couldn't think straight, and let the deathclaw live.

So that's what happened in the end. He walked, and the deathclaw followed him. He thought it would've lost interest before night, but when the time came to set up camp for the night it was still there, watching him. For a moment he thought it would just disappear into the dark and forget about him, or worse, kill him, but it instead simply laid inside the light of the campfire and rested, head in its hands. That night, plus a few more after, he stayed up late, paranoid that it was simply waiting for him to sleep, then it would attack him. But he eventually slept, more out of exhaustion than anything.

Pleasantly surprised the next morning, his friend was still there, sleeping. It was an incredible risk to stay within a hundred feet of one of these things, of course, but remembering Joan had made him careless. Sure, it didn't attack, but it _could_ have. And that was all fate needed to screw him over.

His charitable side decided to spare a little breakfast for his friend, and when it woke up a little later, he could see that it must have been starving the way it gawked down the pre-war beans and bacon. As it ate up a second batch of food, he searched through his pockets, and fished out a small vial. He popped the cap off the vial off with his thumb, and poured out three small white tablets.

Mentats were known throughout the wastes to enhance brainpower for hours at a time. Which was ironic, because, he had been addicted to things since a time he couldn't remember. He really hated himself for eating these things, but if he didn't he got sick. _Really_ sick. So he had a few every morning.

The sound of the tablets rattling in the vial drew the attention of his little companion, who, almost like some loyal dog, tilted its head up at him at an angle one might call cute, if it didn't look like a small demon.

"Want one, buddy? It'll make ya sick."

The deathclaw, it seemed, didn't understand. He saw no harm in giving it one or two – he had made sure he had plenty for the long trip, so what the hell, right? He dropped two Mentats on the ground, and the deathclaw gobbled them up eagerly.

He had no idea at the time if it would even have an effect, good or bad, on his friend. But now, a week later, he definitely noticed some changes in its behaviour. It hunted for food whenever he set up for the night, as was obvious for its bringing of a second gecko, plus it always seemed to _grin_ at him whenever he gave it a pat on the head, or thanked it for its hard work.

He looked up from the spit and followed the highway with his eyes. He planned to head to Vegas from the west, through NCR territory. Rumour had it they had the raiders under control, and had even got something called an 'internet' throughout most of the west coast. The only other way was to head to Nevada from the east, and most of that was under Legion control. And he heard only terrible things about them.

But there was great change coming to all of the wastes. A 'nuclear winter' was passing over most of the country, and some said it was here to stay for months, maybe even years. Already he could feel the cold rising every night, and the days getting shorter. Soon he'd have to use more than his cloak to bundle himself up at nights.

He wasn't sure how his companion felt about this. For one he'd never seen one in a cold environment, so maybe they avoided the cold naturally. He would probably have to find it some clothes too.

Together they devoured the geckos, and afterwards the deathclaw curled up at his feet, resting its head in its hands and closing its eyes. He added some more fuel to the fire, making sure it would last throughout most of the night. Then he rested his head on his pack, and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Next morning was an early one. He stamped out the fire and gathered all his things. They needed to find shelter before nightfall, since camping out in the open had become very cold. His deathclaw was a little harder to convince to get up today, and he noticed it was indeed shivering.

They travelled the highway for a couple hours, looting the cars they passed for anything useful. the deathclaw was handy for this kind of thing, squeezing into and under the car seats and bringing out anything it found. Some beef jerky was one such haul, and other time it came out holding a handgun in its chops while he was searching the trunk.

At around midday the highway drifted back to the north, and he knew that this was the point he'd… or _they_… would have to cross open country to get to California as quickly as possible. He scaled up a large pickup truck to get a better view of the south. He would've like to just cross right into Nevada, but all the roads were blocked or destroyed, and that part of the wastes was covered in raiders. No lone ranger with his pet deathclaw could survive out there.

He turned is eyes eastward. And all he saw was open country, brown and empty. Just beyond the horizon he made out two large mountains, between them a large divot disappearing out of sight. He planned to travel through that canyon, as it was the quickest route to California.

"Canyon it is, then."

He hopped off the truck, checking his gear one last time to make sure he had all he needed. He liked travelling light, so he could cover more ground, but he still felt very unequipped despite all his prior preparations.

"Maybe you can carry some stuff, eh?" he said to his companion, who was playing with a toy soldier it found a few minutes ago. He tried picturing a rucksack or something on its spiked back, sling and all, and actually succeeded.

_Not a bad idea,_ he thought, stepping off the highway and onto open land. _Wouldn't be the strangest thing I've seen._

Yes, he had seen himself befriend one of the most dangerous animals known throughout the wastes after killing off its parents, now _that_ was strange. But he had a feeling his new friend would pay off in the end. Maybe it would grow as big as an alpha, grow huge claws and rip apart anyone who would stand in his way. But until then he would have to protect it, feed it, find it some sort of warmth, act like a parent. And the thing was, he wasn't discouraged at all to do it. _That_, was probably the strangest thing of all.

**Special thanks to Jeffnorsegod, and everyone else who reviewed, wanting this story to be revisited. I'll try to finish it this time. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**The Tunnel**

**1**

A week passed since he'd left that last stretch of road in favour of crossing the wastes the old fashioned way. He didn't feel nervous about losing his way out here without a path to follow, as he had done it many times in the past. The easy-living folks in towns sometimes asked him how he lived out here, in the heat and sand. Just a natural drifter, he would say.

His companion continued to follow him, to his surprise. Though lately it seemed to be filled with less and less energy than it had when he first met it. It all came down to the rationing he was making to their meals every night. The deathclaw had only brought him one small rat for dinner last night, and nothing the night before. He cursed himself for having relying too much on it to bring back meals. His stomach complained most nights too, making sleeping hard to do.

He felt that sense of hopelessness creep into his thoughts, as it often does on long trips without people to talk to. He was never one for the big crowds, but was never comfortable out here on his own either. He had the one thing on his mind, the New Vegas dream, and of all the talking he'd overhead, of all the bits of information he'd put together, he knew this would be different. Or maybe this was just his mind reaching out for this last chance for purpose, as he clearly had nowhere else to go. Maybe Vegas wasn't as good as his mind told him. But he was on the way now, and there was nothing left to turn back to.

The going was slow and uneventful, but there was a few things he'd begun to notice that made travelling a little less dull, and he'd come up with just about anything to get his mind off the thoughts of food and water. Usually, he'd find shade during the peak hours of the day, and wait for that great sun to pass though its skyward travel. But lately he found it wasn't really hot on his skin, even a little bit cool. Again those talks of a 'nuclear winter' came to him, and a little part of him was grateful for the coming drop in temperature.

Concerning his new friend, he'd see an intelligence in its face whenever he made idle comments to himself, or at nights when he muttered the lyrics to those silly childhood songs he and his family used to sing together. A spark of recognition in those reptilian eyes every now and then. It would peer up at him from its position on the ground, look into his own eyes the same way a human would, like it was asking him a wordless question. He felt a little scared at the implication – that the Mentats, which it gobbled up greedily – was actually doing something to it. Whatever 'it' was, he was unsure he wanted to know.

The way ahead became a constant uphill journey. The deathclaw didn't drink much, so he kept himself hydrated. There were no other features out here, save for the mountains on the horizon, and he kept them to his left as he walked. His water supply became lighter and lighter and the hill never evened out. Twice he found his knees weakening, once even bringing him close to collapsing. The deathclaw helped him along, nudging at his thigh with one of its horns, and in its eyes he could clearly see a spark of encouragement. _Just a little farther, _he thought it would say, but those were just tricks his mind was playing on him.

It wasn't until he started thinking about resting when he finally saw details in the land ahead, and they weren't dunes or mountains, at last. The land dipped out of view and into the earth, couldn't be a mile or two away. He pushed himself towards the feature, collapsing once along the way, until at last he came to a stop. He was stood at the lip of a huge divot, which slid down and away from him like a giant bowl. Ahead of that, the path narrowed, where it winded its way further until out of sight, like a giant snakeskin buried in the earth.

The canyon looked clear and filled with plant life. The thought of critters hiding down there brought some promise he couldn't waste. He examined the slope leading down there for a moment. Looked shallow enough to be safely scaled.

"See you on the other side," he said, and jumped. The last thing he saw was the deathclaw raising one surprised eye at him (_like a human's_, he thought again) and then he went skidding down the slope on his knees, arms to his sides to keep himself balanced. He had done something like before, years ago when he lived in Seattle with his brother and sister. How long ago had that been, sliding down hills on pre-war sleds? Fifteen years now?

He came to a rest at the bottom, wiping away at his knees and legs to shake off the dust. He looked up at the slope, seeing the tracks his body made in the dirt. At the lip of the canyon he could see the deathclaw peering down at him. Then after a moment it did its best to copy him, and seeing it try and dig its claws into the ground to keep itself upright was a humorous sight for him. At least it _was_, until it rammed straight into him at full force, knocking the wind out of him.

He crossed his arms over his belly where it had gotten him. When he regained his breath he scolded at his companion, but didn't really seem fazed, but rather _amused_ at what it had done. Given how it gave one snort in his direction before moving off and investigating a nearby shrub with green berry's growing on its stalks.

After a while they got going again, winding their way through the earth, but shaded and surrounded by flora. Plenty of the wild plants around them were edible, and he guessed the place would be teeming with wildlife, but even after the few hours travelling though, they saw nothing so much as an insect, and even the still air down here was only filled by the grunts of the deathclaw, and his boots on the gravel. It had been quiet up there on the surface, but nothing like this.

The sun had gone out of sight and the sky was gold in the dusk. Even now the temperature was low enough to make his teeth clatter, but he pressed onward. He couldn't see the sun out of the canyon, but there was enough light to make out the silhouette of a building up ahead. His companion charged ahead of him as soon as it saw it, and he followed it.

Around the building a concrete ramp led up to a platform that was built a few feet above the ground. He walked up and examined the building on his right. Maybe once it had been two stories high, but all that was left behind a booth, which seemed to be the only thing still standing. Surrounding it was piles of splintered wood and rubble. Bits of hanging metal creaked and groaned at his passing.

He circled the ruins, checking over to see if there was anything left worth noting, but found himself back on the concrete platform empty handed. There was a thick yellow line running parallel to the edge of the platform, and he followed it with his eyes all the way to the far side, where he spied the deathclaw hunkered underneath something.

He went over and joined it. The thing it was staring at was something like a map, only he could see no roads or towns, only lines. Each one a different colour, with the legend in the top corner labelling them different things he didn't really understand. He studied the map until he narrowed down his own location, which was a little off the centre, and a bit further up the right. A thin purple line ran right though this place, which was labelled _Deposit Station_ in big letters, and then it spun south where it forked into two directions – one left one right.

The right one went off deeper into the canyons, while the left one seemed to leave all together through a long black detail, where it ended abruptly to a place labelled _Receiving Area_. Judging from the distance the map legend gave, it seemed only just round the corner from here.

"That's our way forward, I'm betting," he said. And then he heard something to his right, in the rubble. The deathclaw heard it too, as it growled in that direction. When he looked he saw nothing, but that didn't help. He thought about getting out his rifle, but after a long couple moments of staring, all was silent. He shrugged.

"Let's go," he said, and he realised he'd been whispering, and one hand was already on the butt of his gun. They moved off, him glancing back every few moments to see anything in the growing darkness. He didn't. And they rounded the next corner and left the station behind.

The pass ahead bended towards the right, just as it did on the map. He hugged the canyon wall, keeping an eye on the open ground, wary that he wasn't alone. After a few minutes the pass split, and there, dug into the rock face in a giant black O, was the tunnel he would cross.

He moved a few feet in, where the natural light stopped and he couldn't see very far ahead. He thought about the mine and its occupants he'd cleared out, and wandered if this would be the same. He wasn't exactly prepared to hunt down any more packs of beasts for a good while.

Something underneath his foot didn't quite match the telltale gravel he'd been crossing these last few weeks. He cleared away at the ground with his boot, and uncovered a gleaming bit of silver. He got to his knees and patted away the dust for a few minutes, interested. He'd seen train stations before in the big pre-war cities, and those big train cars that carried hundreds of people at impossible distances, tipped over and broken. But these tracks looked old and crude, like they were made not too long ago. By raiders or other folk, though he hadn't seen raiders organised enough to pull off construction like this.

Another noise, heavy and crunching the gravel, behind and to the left of him. The first stars were peering out in the sky and the last rays of sun were vanishing now. He turned his flashlight on and scanned around. He noticed his companion do so as well, its eyes moving side to side before fixing on a point. _Like a sniper_, he thought.

But the deathclaw didn't give off any signs it spotted anything, and a chill ran down his spine at the thought of camping out in the open. It was either that or into the tunnel, and he chose the latter. Sooner he got out and back into the wastes, the better. Funny how he at first thought this place prosperous, and now he wanted nothing more than to get out.

He walked into the darkness, deathclaw at his heel. He looked back every few minutes to see the tunnel mouth shrink and shrink until he couldn't see it anymore. They made camp late into the night, with no fire and cold leftovers, backs on the rail tracks. At least he had no dreams.

**2**

Up above ground in those long stretches of desert, he had lost his sense of time to some degree, but down in this tunnel that seemingly had no end, it was gone completely. Could've been a day or two, or could've been for weeks, but in that darkness it was impossible to tell. He felt his way through, using the tracks and the walls to guide their way to the other side. They slept very little and ate just as less. His companion grumbled often, probably at its lack of food, and he could see the hunger in its eyes, burning like two hovering orbs in the dark by his side. Something else in them, though, he just couldn't place what.

At one point, they came across a pair of metal carriages. One of them had tipped off the tracks, lying on its side. The other was covered in grime and rust, but stood firmly upright. He went and stood at the back of the standing carriage, where an ancient door still hung on its hinges, slightly ajar.

He pulled the door out towards him slowly. The old metal whined and it echoed throughout the quiet tunnel. Dozens of bugs crept out of the eaves of the carriage as he passed the torchlight around the interior. At the front of the carriage he could see a control panel spanning the length of the cart, with a seat on the left side with an old joystick in front of it. Eight windows, four on each side, were cracked and destroyed. He could see the fragments of glass on the ground, both inside and out.

He lifted a leg onto the carriage, where the step came up to about his waist. The whole thing tipped a little backwards, compensating for his weight. The ground looked so rotten he feared he might fall through, but the metal held.

A heavy coppery stench filled his nose as he made his way to the panels. Something scratched at the rocks to his left outside the carriage, and he guessed the deathclaw was picking over at something. Regardless, he put his attention to the controls, and was surprised to find some of the lit up with tiny green circles. Two faintly glowing screens were on the dash left of the seat, which he presumed must have belonged to the driver. Rows of buttons ran alongside the screens, there labels faded too much for him to read. Save for one, which was labelled _auto._

He pressed it, but saw no immediate reaction. He did the same for almost every other button and still nothing. Whatever hopes he had that something might have happened vanished. He called out to the deathclaw and, although only in a whisper, his words echoed out the tunnel and made him flinch. He hadn't heard himself speak for what felt like forever ago.

What happened next was very sudden, spanning only a few seconds. Dozens of fluorescent lights, hidden in the corners of the carriage ceiling, came to life with a click and blinded his sensitive eyes. Then a voice of a women spoke up out of somewhere in a metallic voice.

"_Welcome aboard the Line 5 train. Resume trip?_"

Outside the train car came noises. Louder than one youthful deathclaw could make. He moved over and peered outside one of the broken windows, gloved hands planted on the frames. There it was, his companion, surrounded by things sliding across the tracks. The ones with enough limbs to stand stood with shoulders hunched all the way to the backs of their sloppy heads. Each one of them mumbled and gibbered sounds like animals.

One, farthest away from the train, lunged forward with one hand, with nails longer than its fingers, towards the deathclaw with inhuman speed. It tried to dodge to the side but was to slow, and he could see a flash of blood spill from the deathclaw's shoulder. He could hear it groan in pain as well.

His companion quickly recovered, however. It threw itself on the ghoul's back and severed its head clean off in about three seconds. The body slumped to the ground, and the dead rolled along where it rested against the train.

He had just unslung his rifle, ready to cover his friend when he heard something at the end of the train. He looked over, seeing a pair of ghouls clambering up into the carriage. The two husks of men stared up at him with awful, blank eyes like potholes to hell. Swinging his rifle around, he fired one bullet at the one of on the left, hitting it square in the forehead and sending it flying backwards with its arms splayed in a don't-shoot-me pose. The bolt was pulled back and he hit the next one on the chest, where it crumpled forward, half in, half out of the train.

Then the windows began filling up with faces. What ghouls lacked in intelligence, what with them crawling over themselves in attempts to get at him, they made up for in numbers. As he fired away at them, each muzzle flash lighting up the dark tunnel in a split second of blinding light, he wondered how many had they passed, or how long they might have been following behind them, hidden just beyond the reaches of his lights, or his friends senses?

No matter now. He spent twelve shots, missing only once, where the bullet ricochet dangerously around the train before bouncing off down the tunnel behind them. One ghoul got far enough to fall flat on its back once it climbed through a window, shredding its paper-like skin on glass shards. He quickly ran it through with his pocket knife before it could get up. And as he raised the knife out of the skin, the robotic voice spoke again.

"_Resume trip?"_

"What do you mean, 'resume trip'?" he growled. He looked above him where the source of the voice was loudest. A small slit through the ceiling went up a few feet and stopped. At its end he could see a tiny speaker.

"_Last destination was confirmed on 5/3/2281 from Northern Mine Number 2 to Depository Station. Resume trip?"_

_Only a few months ago,_ he thought, reloading his rifle. "Can this thing move?"

"_Repairs were successful on 15/1/2281 by one 'Jack Miller'. Motor functions satisfactory. Resume trip?"_

"Fast as you can, yeah!"

The unseen engine creaked to life, and the wheels underneath slowly began turning. More and more ghouls scrambled around the train, the sickening sound of their feet being squashed by the moving train was very loud. Not that it mattered to the ghouls. Anything but bullets didn't mean nothing to them. A couple hundred thousand doses of radiation does that to people.

"Hey!" he yelled, standing at the lip of the train door, which a ghoul had torn off a few moments ago. "Over here!"

Back near the other, toppled train car, he could still see his friend wrestling with a trio of ghouls, but there were a lot more corpses lying around and it seemed to be holding its own despite its size. Upon hearing his voice call out, its draconic head lifted out of its predatory state and gazed in his direction. It understood the urgency, and jumped up and onto a ghoul and leapt out of the ring the ghouls made around it. It ran on all fours towards the train.

It hopped up onto the train, where he had moved back to give it room. But before it could reach any further the train gave a sudden jerk as it shifted gears and picked up the pace. The deathclaw lost its balance and tumbled to the side. For one moment he thought it would fall, right into that large gathering crowd of ghouls that had been attracted to all the noise. But it managed to hold on with one clawed hand, gripping hard enough into the metal to go right through it.

Then a ghoul, one that was quicker than the rest, staggered forward and clutched onto the left taloned foot of the deathclaw. His companion barked in surprise and pain as it was dragged backwards. He thought the bark sounded like it had said '_help_'. And he was later sure that he was correct.

His fist came flying into the ghouls face in an instant. It felt like his hand went through mashed potato. He had no idea how such frail-looking things could possess such strength as they did, but there bones were soft and his fist caved in what little flesh its beef-jerky skin contained. he grabbed one of the horns on the deathclaws back and yanked it backwards, sending it away from the door and safely inside.

The train began speeding up enough to be noticed. The ones that couldn't get grips on the windows began to drag behind, joining that ever-growing crowd that lumbered after the train. The deathclaw tried to help him as he cleared away the windows of ghouls, using his knife as much as he could, but he put a hand up and shook his head. It grumbled but stayed back and he was almost oblivious to the ridiculous reality that he was, in a sense, giving orders to dangerous creature.

With the weight of the ghouls gone, the train seemed able to move quicker, and soon the tracks became blurs underneath them as they sped down the tunnel. After fifteen minutes he could no longer see a single ghoul within arms-reach of the train, but he could still hear them, sprinting after them using that endless stamina every ghoul he'd seen in the past have.

What would have taken a few more days to travel on foot went by within the next few minutes. He had just about taken comfort on the cold floor, ready to get what little rest his body could get, when the train warned him of an obstacle ahead on the tracks and encouraged him to order the train to slow. He did, walking and looking out through the long stretch of black that was the tunnel. Only difference now, he was glad to see, was that there was a light at the end, coming up fast.

Bu the light was small, smaller than the other side, and he looked at the giant pile of rubble blocking the way out uneasily. Had he just come through this whole tunnel just to be turned back? Maybe the train could reverse and-

There was a gap, not big, but a passage between the rubble and the right tunnel wall. Rays of light shone through there, orange and bright. Behind them, closing in fast now that they had slowed. were ghouls and death, and it was a chance he was going to take.

When the train came to a halt, which took longer than he'd hoped, given how much room the train needed to brake so it wouldn't hit the rubble, he bolted off of it and straight to the gap. The mechanical trains voice bid him farewell but he didn't listen. The space between the rubble looked barely wide enough to cross.

By his side the deathclaw went to all fours, like a cat ready to pounce. The ghouls couldn't be seen, yet. But he could hear them. There had to be hundreds of them coming at them from the darkness.

He looked to the left wall and noticed something. A doorframe built into the tunnel right by the stopped train. In it he could see the faint glow of radiation, and a whole swarm of humanoid silhouettes. The door was labelled EMERGENCY ACCESS in red letters, but it was ajar, and more and more ghouls came staggering out into the open. He had never seen so many gathered in one place before.

"You first," he said, and forced the deathclaw through the gap. When it noticed the light it turned tale and used its small body to weave out and into the outside world, where it disappeared from view. He turned sideways, back against the concrete wall, and shimmied into the gap after it.

One freakish hand settled on the nook between his shoulder and neck and squeezed, long nails digging into his exposed flesh there and drawing blood. He cried out, first striking out with his hand in a panic, then with his knife, severing the entire arm in an upward slash. Easy enough since their bones had rotted away along with their sense.

He shimmied a few more inches along, sheathing his knife and holding the flow of blood coming from his wound. A dozen arms reached out to him, clawing and tearing away at each other, but he was beyond their reach, and he could feel a breeze ruffle his hair.

He went faster, sliding along the wall like an insect until the light blinded his eyes that were now too used to the dark. Out in the open he felt he could finally breathe again, and the telltale smell of dust and sand filled his nose and it was very comforting. There at his feet the deathclaw was taking a rest, curled up in a ball, and he saw plenty of marks on its back. He sat down and crossed his legs, listening to the wind and the growls of the ghouls trapped in the tunnel behind him, and for the first time today noticed that, although the sun was high above them, it was dreadfully cold.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Been a long time since I've visited this site, and for that I'm sorry. Hadn't thought about this story for a long while now, so this chapter might seem a little out of pace and whatnot compared to the last two. Anyway, enjoy.**

**Chapter 3**

**The New and Old**

**1**

The chilly wind that tugged on his cloak caused him to shiver, despite the fact they were still in the open desert plains. He found his leg brushing against his deathclaw more often as it used him as cover from the ever-declining temperature.

He knew his current cloak and armour wouldn't protect him if the nuclear winter kept this up. Just after leaving the tunnel he noticed something move off in the distance, far off course so he couldn't investigate it further. It walked on four legs, that much he was sure of, and he prayed that more game or any other wildlife would show themselves soon. If they didn't, at least he'd die in the blissful silence that had accompanied him since Oregon.

That and the deathclaw of course, which had been grumbling and growling after he'd wrenched it away from the ghoul corpses at the exit of the tunnel. They were far-gone from being normal like him – as in, human – but he wasn't about to watch his companion feast on human flesh. It might have taken a liking to it; take a liking to his _own_ flesh. It had been eyeing up his leg lately...

He shook his head. No matter. The moment the deathclaw turned on him he'd know what to do, just as long he fought back his hungry urge before _it_ did. He once heard that deathclaw steak apparently tasted like complete ass, but made you feel like a beast yourself. Low on provisions, he couldn't help but wonder if those rumours were true.

Random and obscene thoughts accompanied him, his only other friend out here beside the deathclaw. Another week passed as he dragged himself onward, talking to himself and the desert over and over. Just when he thought he'd start to go insane, he spotted something just over a few dunes ahead. He wished that things out here didn't have to be so far apart all the time and sighed, forcing his feet to drag him to the landmark.

The deathclaw made a small bark, like a sort of "Huh," noise, as it pointed its draconic maw toward the structures he spied. He let a mentat fall from his fingers as he took one himself, the pill fell right into the chops of the deathclaw. _Just to make sure we get there before night_. With the pick-me-ups consumed, the duo pushed on through the afternoon.

When they came to the first of the structures – a dozen or so houses ringing around a larger, central structure that stood above them all on a small rising – he heard a booming sound from behind. He peered over his shoulder at the southern horizon, spying green lightning arcing through the cloudy skies. Rad storms were few and far between this side of the world, popping up pretty rarely. He hadn't seen one in a few years now.

The deathclaw followed his gaze, watching out that way like a dog, attentive and grumbling. It knew as well as he did that they didn't want to be outside when it hit them. He looked back at the nearest house – a standard pre-war home that could fit a whole family inside. He walked up the porch steps and stepped through the rotted archway entrance.

Inside it smelled of old wood, and dust caked every surface. Through the fainting rays of sunlight coming through the windows, thousand of specs of dusts filled the damp interior air. In the corner sat an old metal box, with two antennae coming out from its top. The only recognisable furniture inside was the couch in front of said box, which was rotting away, but he had seen worse things to sleep on. Everything else in the room was mangled messes of wood and plastic.

The deathclaw picked through the garbage as he made his way into the other half of the house. A few intact cupboards looked worth searching through, but his search turned up little that was useful. The bathroom was the most undamaged part of the house, which he entered and used to relieve himself. As he returned to the first room he heard the thunder again, louder and closer.

"Got to board up at least," he said out loud. The deathclaw looked up at him, as it always did when he talked to himself, which had become more frequent, much to his displeasure. He rummaged through the pile the deathclaw was closest to and retrieved a plank of wood of a good size. He went and put it up against the kitchen window, angling it so it fit correctly. He nodded. He just needed to find a way to make them stick.

Exiting the house, he circled around the structure until he found what he was looking for. A tool shed hugged against the next houses exterior, and inside the small space he found an old hammer hanging on the wall. If there were nails, he couldn't find any, though he did find a lawn mower under a tarp cover. Pretty good condition too. If he had the time or energy he could have used its blades to make himself a good cutting weapon, the one dad had taught him to build all those years ago.

_Wonder what happened to that old thing_, he wondered, as he searched the second house for anything useful. There was some intact chairs stacked against one of the far windows, like someone put them there as a barricade against something. He used his newfound tool to pry off the nails and screws from the legs and joints, bending most of them out of shape as he did. He spent the better part of half an hour finding nails and planks, and bringing them back to the first house he'd hold up inside of.

His companion eventually figured out his routine and helped out, carrying planks and small appliances back from the rest of the town on its shoulders. He saw the labouring deathclaw waddle around and laughed. "Maybe you are good for more than eating up my supplies!"

His companion blinked and moved its chops upward. If it were a human, he would've called that a _grin_.

With the nails lined up and the hammer in one hand, he went to work on fortifying the house. He could already feel the warm sensation of radiation in the air, so he made haste, cutting corners he might regret and achieving as much as he could before the storm hit. He only had enough time to seal off the room with the couch, spending more time than he ought to resting, given how he'd gotten little sleep the past month, and what energy he had left faded quickly as he worked

Just as the storm clouds began to creep over the town, he hushed the deathclaw inside and sealed them inside. Cracks of lightning rolled by, lighting up the world back into the daytime for a second. High winds battered against the house, making the floorboards rumbled underneath. In the distance, and ajar door snapped shut, and somewhere far away he heard glass shatter.

He settled onto the couch, feeling shut off and safer, now that he was out of the elements' way. Some radiation would get in, it was unescapable as it was in the air itself, but he'd been breathing it since he was born – a few more doses couldn't hurt none.

He wanted to get up and continue shutting off the house, but his arms and legs were tired and burning, and his eyes were heavy in tiredness. It was stark contrast to his companion, who looked livelier than ever at that moment, pretty much bouncing on its heels as it sat by the foot of the couch on all fours.

He shook his head, letting his eyes close. He leaned back on the couch and sipped on his water supply, getting lower all the time. Before he could help it, he fell asleep, listening to the thunder go by high above. He dreamed he was back north, with Joan and their big brother. Last time they were all together was when they were kids, playing in the rain that wasn't full of radiation. Seattle seemed so very far away now, with its community huddled around that _Needle_ building from before the War. He wondered if it was still standing, his family had lived inside that thing since their grandparents settled down there.

When he woke again, it was pitch black. Irregular lightning li up the world along with the thunder. But it wasn't the thunder that woke him up, no.

He had heard a voice.

For a good minute he didn't move, letting his back seep deeper into the cushions. He listened as well as he could, trying to hear the voice over the racket that was happening outside. Even inside it was noisy, something in the other rooms must have fallen over, clanging into everything as the heavy wind weaved through the house. It was odd, because that _clanging_ was not irregular, but the very opposite – always banging every three moments.

Thunder cracked, but at the same time he heard it again, someone speaking, very close by. But again he could not make out the words. He reached over the arm rest and clutched his rifle, rising to his feet as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He moved to the back of the room, confident the speaker was inside the house, because when another thunder sounded off, the clanging stopped, and the voice spoke up again, like the lightning was startling whoever was here.

He inched into the hall that lead to the rest of the house. The moon casted a dull green overlay through the rooms he failed to barricade in time. He thought of the risks taking the rads just to investigate, but decided it was worth finding whoever had snuck around while he was sleeping.

Holding his breath, he darted through the hall to the furthest room, where he heard another word call out. In one swift motion he was inside the room, rifle out and scanning the shadows. Just underneath the window on the back wall of the small room, which might have belonged to a child at one point, he saw movement just below the sill. It was odd, but the window was half boarded up, and he did not remember doing this part of the house.

Whatever was moving there didn't flee, so he closed in silently with the rifle out front. Once he was close enough to the figure, his eyes caught two golden beads burning in the darkness. He uttered a quick sigh and lowered his gun as he caught the figures outline.

"It's just you," he said, relieved. The deathclaw poked his leg with a taloned claw, opened its chops into a toothy grin, and much to his horror and amazement, said:

"Yep!"

**2**

Major Colt had tactically traded hundreds of lives for dozens of victories, and he wasn't a fan of the term 'acceptable losses', as his superiors had put it so. _Necessary sacrifices,_ was a better way to put it, and as he often said to his aspiring men – victory cannot be achieved without a few sacrifices.

But at the end of the day, when the list of names popped on his desk that displayed who and how many had died under his command, he wasn't as heartless as most of the army perceived him to be. It could have just as easily been his name of the MIA or KIA lists, but they had died for the good of the Enclave, or what remained of it anyway, after high command dragged them all into the dirt.

Staring out over the ocean, nausea set in his stomach as he eyed the city on the mainland. His keen perception spied red lasers streaming throughout the streets, and what he'd read before setting sail proved the situation here was worse than he realised. Worse than he felt, even.

"Major!" Footsteps approached from behind him on the deck. If Colt wasn't acquainted with Corporal Watson since the earliest days of his officer career, he might have pulled the blade from his belt and slashed out at the man approaching his backside.

"Not now Corporal," Colt said, his voice betraying his demeanour. "I'm busy."

"Busy?" asked Watson, and Colt answered by leaning over the ship railing and spilling his lunch into the sea. _Fearless Major getting seasick,_ Colt thought miserably as he straightened back up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. After two weeks on the water they were finally getting back on land. Ever since boarding this old rust bucket back in Navarro, abandoning the old base and leaving valuable equipment behind, much to his protests against Gordon who ordered the evacuation, he'd been holding in that retching urge. Now he did it in front of one of his soldiers. _Good one._

"You tell anyone about this," Colt threatened his underling. "I'll chuck you overboard."

"As you say, sir."

"And if I have to go on another boat ride like this I might just toss myself off as well."

Watson snorted, trying to conceal it but failing. "Gordon wouldn't appreciate that, sir."

"No he wouldn't, but I don't _appreciate_ leaving our strongest coastal base to the Mutants and the NCR, yet here we are. The Last Stand, as our General so poetically put it. How long until we dock?"

"Just under an hour, sir."

"Finally. Prepare the cargo bay for docking. I want to be the first one off this stinking boat, got it?"

"Sir." Watson hurried away, leaving Colt to stare back out to shore. After giving the Boneyard one last look, he went below deck to oversee the rest of the ship.

**3**

The ship clunked against the piers, metal scraping against metal as the main ramp lowered, and dozens upon dozens of crates filled with weapons and armour pushed by soldiers rolled out into the daylight. As he had said, Colt strode out of the ship before anyone else, flanked by Waston and another Corporal, both of them wielding plasma rifles and wearing their prised T-51 Power Armour suits. Not the latest in technology, unlike Colt's own suit that was most likely inside one of the crates he was passing, but they made the men towering and intimidating, one of their few advantages when it came down to fighting the New California Republic.

He stopped on the far side of the pier, where dozens of personnel had come to meet the docking ship. Colt pinched his nose as he turned to Watson. "It smells worse than it looks," he said. And judging by the outlying buildings of the skeletal city, to say this place had seen better days was a massive understatement. Only rats would want to make this place a home. NCR rats, of course.

An elderly gentleman called his name and strode over to Colt, flanked by his own personal Power Armoured guards. His grey hair was thinning out, matching his eyebrows which Colt knew were drawn on. The old war General produced a clipboard from his fur coat in one hand, pen in the other as he jotted down notes. He stopped before Colt and did not look up at him.

"General Gordon," Colt greeted. He grumbled under his breath when Gordon didn't immediately answer back.

"Major," Gordon at last replied. "Everything well?"

"How could you say that? Given everything that's happened to us these past few years? Why did you call me here, _sir_."

Gordon raised his bloodshot eyes and grinned. "Walk," he said, and turned and made his way toward the city. Colt joined his side. The sounds of the crashing water soon faded in favour of gunshots and fire fights, although somewhat distant and deeper into the nest of buildings surrounding the Boneyard proper. Thier four elite bodyguards watched every broken window for signs of movement.

"I wish to discuss tactics," Gordon said, writing under a new page. The page was labelled 'CLASSIFIED'.

"You made me go on a fourteen-day boat ride just to discuss tactics with you? I know we've lost a lot, but our radios still work, General. And put that clipboard down, will you? You and I know you're not writing anything worth reading, or is _going _to be read."

"And that is where you're wrong," Gordon said, but he did look up a little at Colt. "But you're straight to the point, aren't you Colt? That's what I always liked about you. Even Eden is too hesitant when it comes down to decisions."

Colt huffed at the president's mention. He may not have liked Gordon much, but he was better than most other superiors, who had already turned their backs in the west in favour of falling back to the east. They had too many assets here the NCR must not acquire, and Gordon was the only other person who knew or cared about that.

"I tried to warn you," Colt said. "But it's like you've given up, General. Are we really making the Boneyard our last stand?"

"So few of us are left, Major. My forces are barely keeping the NCR out of Los Angeles, as you can no doubt hear." Almost on cue another gunfight erupted behind them, and Colt guessed it may have been at the docks they'd departed from. "You say I've given up, and you're not half wrong. It's _you_ that will carry on our legacy this day."

"What?" Colt blinked; sure he had misheard the old man.

"There's one last trick up my sleeve," Gordon said. "It's not for me; I'm too old to fight anymore. I and a small contingent will cover your escape while you and your men go east. President Eden is in Washington right now, fighting with what remains of us."

"Hold on, sir." Colt raised his hands. "You want me to go to Washington? You expect me to walk all that way?" He could only think of one person willing to walk the wastes like that.

"That's where my sleeve-trick comes in. You've constantly been asking where I've diverted our resources to, and I've kept you in the dark for long enough, Colt."

Their destination Gordon lead them to was a long warehouse that served as the General's headquarters. Welding and other mechanical sounds could be heard inside the giant building. The dozens of guards posted along its walls waved them through the clearing toward it, which was covered in NCR bodies.

"What's with the security?" Colt asked, stepping over the corpse of a fellow Enclave soldier.

"Because of this." The General pushed open the archway into the warehouse and beckoned Colt to enter first.

Inside the structure, dominating the space and covered in engineers like bugs to a light, sat a vehicle over a hundred meters long, and was shaped like a giant bullet. On the rear side of the vehicle were two giant rotor blades, the leftmost one spinning around as a woman greased up the joints. Below the ships centre sat four vertibirds gunships attached to a series of latches on ramparts. The greying steel contraption was almost as big as the sea ship he'd come in on.

"Behold, the _Endeavour_," Gordon said, raising his arms to praise the ship. "It's Brotherhood design, a little smaller than their own airships, but we don't have the manpower or crew to sustain anything bigger. It's the best we could do in such short time."

"What... is it?" Colt asked.

"Pre-war zeppelin, but with a few modifications. Crew of one hundred and sixty, four vertibirds fully loaded, and a bomb bay armed with three mini-nuke dispensers, should you have no need for precise strikes with the vertibirds."

" 'My' vertibirds?"

"I said it's for you, didn't I?"

Colt looked up at the airship again. Enough firepower here to start a small war, if he wanted. "Why not use this to clear out the Boneyard for ourselves?" Colt asked. "They wouldn't stand a chance."

"No they wouldn't, but what use is this place for us anymore? The people hate us, their resources have gone to the NCR, who've annexed this side of the world. No, the _Endeavour _would be shot down without proper support, and that is what we don't have right now. You will Captain this vessel and _leave_, Major. And that is an order. You will carry on the Enclave's legacy; tell Eden what happened to the rig if you ever meet him. Don't let the world forget what we have done here."

"Just leave? Leave the west to fall to the NCR? What about the chip? The thing that's kept us out here all this time?"

"That's my other request. Stop by the city of New Vegas, and sweep the area for any signs of it. We still have beacons all over the countryside searching, but if it's to turn up anywhere, Vegas would be the first place. Should you fail to find it, continue to the east. But if you should find that thief, well, don't hesitate to use the chip to destroy the NCR for good."

"It would be my honour," Colt said. They held the technological edge over NCR, but they had the numbers. The chip would be their best bet at holding back their tide of conscripts and rangers, but said chip had evaded their capture for a long time, and he held little hope of finding it now, with not even enough people to send out search parties into the Wastes anymore.

"I've already sent your armour and weapons on board." Gordon produced his clipboard again. "Head to the bridge and tell Captain Susan to prepare for take-off."

Before Gordon moved away, Colt seized his arm. "Why don't you come with us?" Colt asked. "Or, why not let me stay behind while you run off in this airship?"

"Because," the General said. "The Enclave is all you know, and you're more able than me. Seventy years old in a few days, and I can barely keep my hands steady. The men follow you; you've risen swiftly through the ranks over since the oil rig fell. Also, besides me, you're the only other superior this side of America."

Colt never thought of himself as one to stay behind so that others could survive. Taking a heroic stand was a sure way of wasting lives, and if the old General wanted to do that, then he would let him. Gordon had a point – he was remarkably old, even in military standards.

"You know all you need to," Gordon said. "Get on board and get ready. I'll distract the NCR so they don't fire on you too much. Luck to you, Colt."

"So long, General."

Colt boarded the _Endeavour_ and worked his way to the ship's bridge, passing chambers filled with power armour racks, barracks', and medical clinics that were already packed with wounded. Most everyone was rushing about in preparations, probably by Gordon's forewarning. They ducked out of Colt's way, saluting or nodding as they continued on their rushed duties.

After rising up two last sets of tight staircases, Colt found himself on the bridge. The front wall was entirely glass, displaying the warehouse's metallic interior. In front of the glass was a curved countertop filled with buttons and screens. Sitting in front of that, was a woman Colt presumed was the Captain of the airship.

As Colt's boots clanged on the metal floor toward her, the woman dressed in fatigues at the ships helm looked over her shoulder at him, then stood and snapped to attention. "Major Colt, sir! Glad to have you aboard this fine vessel!"

"At ease, Captain. Prepare for takeoff immediately. Let's leave the Boneyard behind for good."

"About damn time, I say," Captain Susan said, falling back into the piloting chair. She pulled down the microphone attached to her headset. "This is Susan, all engines to full. We're going up. Major? Might want to hold onto something."

Colt grabbed an overhead pipe and steadied his feat. After a few moments the whole airship began to vibrate, as if the earth itself began to quake. Outside he could see numerous personnel leap off the airship and beat hasty retreats from the craft. Susan said aloud to make sure the vertibirds were secure as she eased a lever in front of her forwards.

Outside, the roof of the warehouse opened up like a mouth, letting in the morning sunlight. Tubes released from the air pumps alongside the _Endeavour, _clamps opened up to let the landing gear free, and the rear engines came to life, filling the Boneyard with the sounds of its roaring engines.

The airship bumped as Susan elevated the craft from the ground, just a few meters at a time. Colt didn't mind the bumpiness that came when riding the vertibirds gunships, but this was on a whole other level, and if it was like this for the trips duration, he wished he was back on the water. Though that was like choosing the lesser of two evils.

Colt latched his other hand onto the support above him as Susan lifted the airship higher and faster. He watched the ground sink away beneath the view as they rose above the skeletal rooftops of the bombed out, ancient buildings of the Boneyard. At this height he could make out the city proper, where many lowlifes and struggling settlers called this place their home. Hollowed out buildings decorated with neon lights of all of the rainbows colours.

Colt thought about providing the air support to Gordon, but remembered that no doubt NCR had already spied the not-so-subtle airship and were warning their Brotherhood supporters. He was about to tell Susan to bring them southeast, as far from the city as possible, when she screamed out; "RPG, dead ahead!"

Colt saw the rocket trail, leading from a rooftop a few streets over from the warehouse. He opened his mouth to order an evasive action, when gunfire erupted off to his left side. It was muffled, but he could see the tracer rounds come from the port side of the _Endeavour_. A machine gun previously concealed lit up the rocket and destroyed it mid-flight, making Colt and Susan shy their eyes away.

"That was close," Susan said like she hadn't just seen her life flash before her.

"Who was on that gun?" he asked.

"Private Hayse, sir."

"Remind me to thank him. This won't be the last time some waster will try and bring us down."

At that, Susan dragged the airship towards the right, away and out of range of any more rockets, and left General Gordon and what remained of the Enclave behind for good. He made a silent promise to the old General he would not let the Enclave die on his watch.


End file.
